


Darkness Cannot Drive Out Darkness

by BeneathTheWaves



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneathTheWaves/pseuds/BeneathTheWaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Amy's second will didn't really include much in the way of her possessions. She had the house which was left to Simon, but the rest was a list of requests. Kieren reads them quietly for possibly the tenth time. Her most insistent demand only asks that Kieren and Simon go on day trips, like she used to. 'Don't give in to their comfort zones, moregous, widen your own' he reads, her voice filling his head. He loves that will, it's just so her. Selfless and generous and so caring, even from beyond the grave... Again.'</p><p>Simon and Kieren take a trip, finally talk some things through, and get a little closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkness Cannot Drive out Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings as tagged. They're all referenced in the show so nothing is particularly shocking, but could still be upsetting.

Kieren's mum is the first to suggest something. She does so with far too much subtlety for Kieren to actually understand what she's referring to, so he shrugs it off until his dad tries.

"Kier, help me dry up please?" Steve asks after the family have finished eating. They don't waste food on Kieren anymore, but he still likes to sit at the table. It was always a rule when they were younger, so he feels bad if he isn't there, like he's being disrespectful.

"Uh, sure dad," Kieren responds. Slightly confused, primarily by the way his dad actually bothered to phrase it as a question, nothing rhetorical about it, rather than telling him outright. Secondly by the way his mum leaves them to it, closing the kitchen door on her way out. "How's things?" Steve asks once Kieren has got a fresh tea towel out of the cupboard. He’s waiting for the first item to stop dripping, watching a little patch of froth slide over the ceramic, and looks up at his dad to answer.

"Good."

"Well... Good," Steve repeats, looking straight ahead.

That's all for a couple of minutes and Kieren can't help laughing quietly. "Is that it, 'how's things'? Or have you got something else up your sleeve, dad?"

"Okay, Mister Cut-To-The-Chase -"

"-Sorry," Kieren interrupts because he hadn't meant to be rude but it sounded a bit confrontational out loud.

His dad brushes it off with a wave of his hand. "No, I'm not good at small talk." They both smile at the understatement. "Your mother and I were wondering if you wanted to go on this trip for Jem next weekend."

Kieren shrugs. He hasn’t thought about it too much but he kind of assumed he was expected to.

"Because. I mean you're welcome to. There’s not that much room for all of us at Aunt Carol’s. But we. We thought maybe we'd go and you could stay…" Kieren frowns a little. Is this about his auntie? She’s met him a couple of times since the rising and seemed okay, but even his dad succumbed to the anti-PDS propaganda for a while. It’s not unthinkable that Carol’s having second thoughts about it.

"You know, man the fort, Mum thought Simon might be sick of us… We thought you might like some… alone time," his dad finishes with a pointed look at Kieren. Oh. _Oh_.

Kieren grins ever so slightly. "Yeah that would be okay," he says carefully. "Cool."

He tells Simon that day. Over the phone because Simon's texts are impossible to interpret, maybe it comes with the granddad sweaters. They don’t bother with hellos; Kieren suspects he’s the only person who rings Simon anyway. "So, my parents are taking Jem down to London to look at colleges." He starts pacing. Phone calls still fill him with nervous energy even when it’s just Simon.

"Mmm."

"Well my aunt lives over there and they're staying with her, doing a bit of touristy shit. For two nights." Kieren turns and paces back on himself.

"Huh." Simon seems to know where this is going.

"And they're leaving us the house. So come over Friday night. With bags an’ stuff, okay."

"Okay. It sounds great, Kier, okay..." Kieren waits because sometimes Simon is just such a good listener he forgets to talk, and he hasn't really said anything so far. Kieren wants to hear him out. "I'm sorry my house is so full all the time." He's kicked Zoe and Julian out, Kieren suspects for being the leaders in the plot to wail uselessly and scare the villagers. Suspicion is all he has, he wasn't there at the time and hasn't asked. But the other homeless undead have stayed.

"I don't mind, Simon,” Kieren says genuinely. He doesn’t like being there in the quiet without Amy; it just makes it more obvious that she isn’t there too. It's easier to ignore what's missing when he's being annoyed by Simon's fan club. In case that’s not enough, he adds, “My family actually do like having you around."

Speak of the devil, Jem calls him from somewhere downstairs. It's quiet enough that he can pretend not to hear.

"But wouldn't you like the freedom?" Simon’s doing it again, thinking about what he can’t give Kieren not what he already has.

Kieren shrugs to himself, stroking patterns into the carpet with his big toe. "Sometimes? I mostly just like being around you. I don't really feel limited." He doesn’t contrast Simon and Rick out loud, but he’s pretty sure Simon knows what he means. Simon helped him finally accept himself. “You know I couldn’t even look at myself until.. Remember that day you put on mousse for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I looked at you and it was kind of funny I thought you’d be so different but you just looked like you were… hiding… exactly like I was doing!” As if to prove it now Kieren looks into his rounded mirror and gives his reflection a little nod of acknowledgement. He looks happy enough.

“It feels freeing, doesn’t it.”

It does. “Mn”

Jem calls Kieren again, louder, and Simon asks "Is that your sister?"

"No." Kieren insists stubbornly. He kind of doesn’t want the moment to end.

She calls again and this is actually kind of funny.

"Kieren, not only can I hear her, I can hear you laughing. Stop being a dick to your sister."

He kicks the corner of his sketchpad further under the bed. "Oh, I love you too."

"I Love you, but I'm hanging up." The buzz cuts in immediately after Simon finishes the sentence and Kieren laughs again.

Jem opens the door and glares at him, taking in the soppy look on his face. "Oh, I see who you'd rather be talking to!"

"Yeah, well he hung up on me for you."

Jem seems pleased about that, smiling to herself as she cocks her head and thrusts the disc in her hand towards him, "Can you help me do a backup of my laptop?"

Being the recluse he is, Kieren has managed to become the family computer expert. “Sure.”

 

*

 

Amy's second will didn't really include much in the way of her possessions. She had the house which was left to Simon, but the rest was a list of requests. Kieren reads them quietly for possibly the tenth time. Her most insistent demand only asks that Kieren and Simon go on day trips, like she used to. 'Don't give in to their comfort zones, moregous, widen your own' he reads, her voice filling his head. He loves that will, it's just so  _her_ . Selfless and generous and so caring, even from beyond the grave... Again.

"You ready?" Simon asks from the doorway, looking at Kieren, where he sits on his bed, with cautious eyes.

"Yeah," he replies, standing up and throwing on a maroon scarf.

The colour contrasts Simon's grey hand beautifully when he tucks one side loosely around Kieren's neck, dropping his hand to rest on Kieren's shoulder.

Kieren laughs at the move. "Smooth."

Simon just squeezes that hand, a cocky half smile on his pale lips, as he leads them down the stairs.

"Bye mum, dad," Kieren calls from the hallway.

"Be safe, Kier!" Sue shouts from the lounge, the sofa rustle giving away her movement.

"I will mum, don't worry. Have a good trip," Kieren replies, quietening as she emerges. He hugs her when she’s close enough.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Walker. I'll take a bullet for him," Simon deadpans with only slightly less intonation than usual. She laughs.

"Ugh that's getting old," Jem moans, announcing her presence.

"Bye, Jem." Kieren sighs with insincere irritability, almost reaching out to hug her but settling for one arm around her back. She leans onto his shoulder so that’s something.

Steve walks in to say goodbye, clapping Kieren on the back and opening the door to let Simon out.

Before Kieren can pass through the doorway, Sue reaches out for one last parting hug like she just can’t help it. Kieren feels slightly guilty for a second that her goodbyes are always such a big deal before she whispers “Condoms in the bathroom,” and he unwraps her arms with distaste, checking nobody heard.

They walk to the train station, shoulder to shoulder in an easy, companionable silence. The ticket man, grey haired and bearded, frowns when they’re close enough that he can see them properly, the lines aged into his forehead getting deeper. Close enough to notice their naked faces. Maxine may be gone but Victus is still in until the formal replacement and nobody in the council seems too keen to revoke the travel ban. Simon asks for their tickets, emphasising the words 'return' and 'day'. The old man takes their money and offers a shy smile when he slides the printed tickets under the window. Kieren thanks him enthusiastically, unsure how much he just let slide.

The train is quiet when they get on so they walk down the length, finding a carriage to themselves. They sit side by side, only touching at the shoulders. Simon swings his feet up onto the opposite seats facing them, because of course they got the four. Kieren worries about wear and tear to the distinctively public transport fabric but does put his own chunky boots up as well, eventually; it brings their outer thighs into contact. Simon doesn't notice so Kieren hides his pleasure at the easiness. It's just nice to have that casual contact. It reminds him of Jem throwing her legs over his while they watch TV, back in the days when they were just two teenagers.

He longs for that again. There are reassuring hugs from his parents but he misses the easy subconscious touch of another person. Things are slowly returning to that, he hopes they will eventually but he can't count on it, not when Jem is having nightmares about him.

His dad had been the most cautious around him. Everything had to be deliberate, like Kieren was a wild animal who might spook or even worse- 

"Look over there," Simon points out the window, like he can sense the dark path Kieren's thoughts are taking.  "A fox." The train is slowing ready for the first stop, but not yet at the platform.

"Where?"

Simon tilts his arm to follow it as they move away but it's gone before Kieren has the chance to see it. He's glad to be drawn out of his head though. The train stops but nobody gets on through their doors.

Kieren looks around at Simon sideways, through his lashes. "I've been thinking." He starts.

"Mn"

"Have you ever tried, you know, doing it. Since The Rise, obviously, I don’t mean like ever."

Simon looks back at him, face in profile, lit with the flickering light passing between trees oh so flatteringly. It adds colours to his grey face, glow to his white eyes. "I haven't _had sex_ Kieren, not since I died."

Kieren can't help liking that, in a slightly possessive way. "Do you know anybody who has?"

Simon's brows pull together slightly. Confusion. "There was an undead brothel. I think we can safely assume there was a little more than cuddling." He sounds extra Irish when he’s sarcastic.

Kieren rolls his eyes; he's going to have to be a bit more blunt. "I was actually thinking a little less... _heterosexual,_ to be honest."

Simon faces him full on now, expression serious in a way that embarrasses Kieren, who was kind of hoping they could stick to euphemism. How naïve of him.

"Kieren, it's not that different. Probably a little more work than it used to be, I mean you were eighteen," Simon punctuates that with a pat on the knee, just leaving his hand there "but everything _works_ , trust me."

Kieren thinks he's probably blushing, briefly wonders if he’s even capable of doing so, because Simon basically admitted to jacking off. Kieren’s not a very sexual person, usually avoids thinking about that sort of thing, but that's actually kind of hot. He doesn’t push it any further, just says, "Yeah," and snuggles into Simon's coat. Simon wraps an arm around him and watches Kieren’s hands shake as he plays with the khaki zip, unseen concern playing in the corners of his mouth. Kieren actually falls asleep in that position, tucked up against Simon.

 

*

 

Simon wakes Kieren at the stop before theirs by moving away, leaving a thoughtfully positioned hand on his shoulder so he doesn’t fall into the seat. Kieren yawns and stretches his arms out in front of him, “Are we there?”

“Not yet, sleepyhead…” Kieren looks out of it so Simon adds, “Almost. Were you up last night, you were pretty deeply asleep.”

Nightmares again, not just his own this time. Kieren wants to brush it off but he hates it when Simon does that to him. “Jem was screaming in her sleep. I woke her up then slept on the floor.” Jem had told him to go back to bed, after she’d finished clinging to Kieren like he was the only thing anchoring her in the present. Kieren had refused and stayed by her side until the sun was rising and her face was peaceful once again.

“I’m sorry.” Simon seems genuine about it, not just a social nicety. Not that Simon was much of a stickler for etiquette anyway, but his concern for Jem touches Kieren.

“She’s getting better...” Kieren says, hoping he’s right.

 

*

 

The seaside used to be Kieren's favourite place to run away to, specifically this one town. It was always this town. It wasn't the beach he went to in the summer with his family, too hard to get to by road to bother with. But then that was kind of the point. It was chosen by Rick as the furthest afar you could travel for under fifteen pounds’ train fare.

It had history for them. The end of the pier was the first public place Rick had ever kissed him. The first place he had known that Rick liked him, that what they had wasn't just a drunken habit or curiosity. The beach was the first (and only) place they had got high. The place they visited before they slept in the same bed for the first time since they were kids. Before the first time they’d tried anything, pretty much.

He hasn't been here since Rick died but Kieren had decided, after Simon suggested they go out, that he was ready to share. He had enough hiding when Rick was alive. He doesn't want to hide his past from Simon too. He fell for this town and he wants to make some new memories here. He doesn’t want the old memories of this place, the ones he holds onto, to be eclipsed by grief.

Kieren leads Simon by the hand to the end of the pier. The sun is almost at full height and it's blinding, reflecting off the rough sea which covers most of the sand. It must be high tide or there about.

"I guess we could go swimming," Kieren ponders, watching a sea gull circle. "It's February. We'd be the only ones." Simon looks at him like he's mad but Kieren stares him down. He doesn’t look away until Simon does. "Okay, maybe not, I just thought if I can't feel the cold then I should have the option to enjoy myself all year round."

Simon considers that. "...Do you think we'd tan?... I mean I'm Irish I've never had a tan in my life... but d'you think I could get sun burn? I'd just be worried about it really. I mean me mum made me wear those swimming top things until I was a teenager… Got bullied a lot, that’s not the point.

“But the sun can damage your skin all year round," Simon finishes, sounding like Kieren’s dad.

Kieren grins at all the thought Simon’s putting into it. They've reached the end of the pier now so Kieren sits down and peers up at Simon, "I knew you were a nerd."

Simon laughs despite himself, joining Kieren on the floor but not looking out to sea."Fuck it. Let's go swimming..." Simon seems to have decided Kieren's reaction will be worth getting wet clothes and drying out his skin but he still adds a clause, "when there's sand. I like sand."

"Deal." Kieren says and kisses him. Definitely worth it, Simon thinks.

They talk about everything, laid back on the slimy wood. Kieren talks about Rick: things Simon has heard through Amy and the things she'll never know, things Kieren struggles to word and the stories that flow out of fond smiles. Mostly they’re set here and Simon’s touched to be included.

"...and we didn't really know how hungry we'd get. I mean everybody talks about it but I thought it was like a TV thing. You know so they can imply people are baked but keep ratings lower. We weren't expecting it until we walked past the chippy and smelled frying. It was literally the best thing I'd ever tasted.” Kieren moans a little at the memory. “Like how bacon smells except bacon never lives up to the smell. These chips did, oh my god. Problem was we didn't really think about the time it would take for them to cook so we ended up having to run all the way to the station. Saw the train doors closing and Rick starts hammering on the open button and the man with the whistle has to do some override thing for us to get on. He’s shaking his head at us when we thank him out the window as we pull away.  We didn't get to eat 'till we were on the way home... Somehow they were still hot."

Kieren's blinking deliberately now, long slow closes of his eyes that don’t need any explaining. So Simon tells him stories about his boyfriends. He realises somewhere along the way that none of his stories are as nice. When Simon runs out of stories that would have been funny if he were sober at the time, the sun is visibly lower, casting shadows behind them. "Do you still want to go swimming?"

They walk a little way from the pier, to a beach they can have to themselves, away from the dog walkers and families with their reluctant kids. That seems to be the theme of the day: finding places where it’s just the two of them.

There’s a good few metres of beach showing now, but it still looks wet, the February sun doing practically nothing to speed up evaporation. The grains are a little too large for proper sand here but it still crunches underfoot rather satisfyingly, Simon notices.

Kieren, apparently, takes none of this in. He’s still on the stepped concrete coastal defence wall, taking his boots and socks off with less speed than the movement of his hands was obviously intended to produce. He leaves them there and begins rolling up the baggy ankles of his jeans, only becoming still once they’re high enough.

“What?” Simon asks defensively when Kieren doesn’t move.

“Take your shoes off?” Kieren asks in a voice so soft that Simon never had a hope of arguing. He does sigh loudly though, for his masculinity.

Once he’s satisfied that Simon’s going to indulge him, Kieren jumps off the steps. The landing is just forceful enough to create a sogginess around his feet that makes him want to run. “Hurry up.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming!”

When Simon’s standing level, Kieren runs to the seafront, absolutely delighted that when he looks around, Simon’s following. A little more slowly, like he cares a little more about what anybody watching may think, but Simon is running barefoot along the beach just so Kieren has fun and that’s more than enough.

Kieren keeps running, the spray of water on his ankles getting greater the closer he is to the waves. Keeps going when he hits the saturated area, until the foam fully covers his feet and licks at his ankle bones with the rises.

He represses the urge to scream and turns to see Simon walking calmly to join him, shouts over to him, “Simon, it’s cold. Jesus Christ, it’s freezing.” Simon just laughs at him.

“But how, how is it cold?” He demands it, mouth left hanging open with shock after he’s finished.

Simon arrives next to him. “Your nerves are dead, the ones at the surface at least, the pain receptors and temperature ones. Supposedly.” He adds like he’s questioning it and Kieren thinks about his contacts making him sore. “But the point is you’ve got to have some nerves right, the voluntary ones. Your muscles still contract. Still react…” Simon shrugs. “Besides your brain knows it’s cold even if your skin doesn’t.”

“Shit. How do you know this?” Kieren’s still stood in the water. It’s addictive, feeling.

“That’s for another time. It’s not a nice story.”

“Sorry,” Kieren says, this hurt look about him like it’s somehow his fault.

Simon takes him by the shoulder and tilts him so they’re face to face, hand around the back of his neck. “Don’t be.”

Kieren kisses Simon because it would be rude not to, with his face so close. A small peck on the cheek is all though because he’s got more important things to do. He doesn’t try swimming; it really is much too cold for that, neurotransmitters or not. He can feel it deep down like the numbness when you forget gloves in winter but without the pain. Not exactly unpleasant and yeah, it’s bearable but he doesn’t want it any stronger. So he stands in the waves and follows them down the beach as the tide goes out. He lifts his feet and watches the droplets run off. Picks up shells. Throws rocks like he’s trying to skim them even after Simon points out that’s for still water, he keeps doing it until Simon joins in. It ends with an impromptu splashing match that mostly keeps to the below the waist rules. 

Neither of them say much, but Kieren knows Simon’s happy too.

When Kieren finishes mucking around they go back to the steps, moving their stuff to follow the sun. Kieren unrolls his jeans and notices that he’s actually less wet, “I won, by the way.”

Simon shakes his head, “Whatever you say.”

They position themselves in the sun to dry off, sat in companionable silence. Simon has his face in the shade but Kieren is sunbathing. He may have even less pigment to his gingery complexion than when he was alive, but the light shining through his eyelids reminds him of the warmth he had once felt like this. Maybe not in February, but he can kid himself.

 

*

 

Eventually the sun makes its way back behind the semi-permanent covering of clouds and they decide to make their way back, via the town. “I miss ice cream” Kieren says as they come to the first of many ice cream parlours.

“I miss those sherbet things, with the liquoriss.”

Kieren pulls a face, “With what?”

“Liquoriss,” Simon repeatts, "what were they called.. like fountains or something?"

It dawns on him then. “Are you trying to say liquorice?”

“Oh piss off!” Simon has the tiniest bit of venom in his voice and it only encourages Kieren.

“You’re right.” Kieren holds his hands up in surrender. “You can say it however you want.”

“Thank you.”

“But it’s liquor _ish_ ,” he murmurs under his breath. Simon moves sideways abruptly, shouldering Kieren into the path of a lamppost as revenge. He steps neatly round it in a way that must be slightly disappointing to Simon and nudges back more gently. “Touché.” Kieren is trying not to grin, the corners of his mouth are turned up but his chin is forward to flatten the rest. He loves this playfulness. It’s so much more fun than prophecies and prejudice.

Presumably to make up for shoving him, Simon drags Kieren into the next place with a window full of ice cream. “Let’s look.”

There must be about twenty flavours on display in the big glass freezer. The girl behind the counter watches them; Kieren can feel her eyes on him as he reads the little flavour signs so he looks up. He expects a non-verbal confrontation like he had had every day in The Legion. But she just smiles at him as if she knows she’s been caught. She doesn’t seem angry, just looks confused that there are two PDS sufferers in her cafe. Kieren’s thankful that she’s definitely too young to care that they won’t be buying anything but still feels bad because, by the look of it, business isn’t exactly booming this early in the season. He finds Simon’s hand and turns it toward the door. Simon gets the hint quickly.

“I don’t like just looking.” Kieren explains once they’re outside, hands still entwined. “It’s like being on a diet.” It’s not a lie. It’s the part of that uneasy feeling that Simon will understand.

“Or poor.”

Kieren squeezes Simon’s hand again. “Exactly. The station’s this way,” he swings their hands to the right, down a residential road. It’s quite useful for directing somebody, holding hands. Kind of like those reins for small children, he thinks and laughs aloud in a sigh.

“What?” Simon asks kindly.

“I was just thinking how I’m leading you around.” Kieren shrugs, he can’t really explain it.

“Good job I like it when you take charge.” Simon’s voice is all low and dripping with innuendo.

Kieren laughs properly then elbows him, just in case they really can blush. They’re nearly at the station now so Kieren waits until they get there before he brings up the next topic. He bides his time to phrase it best, practicing in his head.

“What happened to you during the rising?” Kieren asks once they’ve sat down on the bench to wait for the train, he’s not too sure about bringing it up so he feels like he has to explain himself. “I just - you’re always asking everybody. Has anybody asked you?” He hopes it isn’t a touchy subject.

Simon starts pulling at his sleeves, a nervous habit Kieren’s intimately acquainted with. It’s definitely a touchy subject. For a minute he doesn’t think Simon will answer, he’s about to brush it off when Simon looks up at him, eyes burning.

“I killed my mum,” Simon speaks slowly and deliberately, “in my untreated state,” he clarifies, the politically correct terms seem to stick in his throat. “My dad couldn’t forgive me. I don’t think I can really judge him for that, but… y’know, it _hurt_.” Simon stops talking, breathes heavily, looks back up at Kieren. “I know you wondered why I was with the undead disciples. You know after all that shit they were involved with, the attacks. But they didn’t start like that. They were like a support group… Didn’t exactly have any family and they wanted me…” Kieren can appreciate that. “I didn’t want to know, I let myself go on ignorant because I had purpose. I’d never had that before.

“…There’s the train,” Simon says in exactly the same sad tone and Kieren’s heart pulls. He had sort of forgotten, wrapped up in the honesty and vulnerability of the moment that they were waiting for the train.

“Thank you for telling me.” Kieren leaves the ‘you can stop now’ unspoken, tries to say it only through the softness of his voice, the gentle hand on Simon’s arm, not quite holding but ready to.

The other people on the platform are standing up, already queueing even though the train hasn’t yet stopped. They stay sitting. They can afford a minute or two for Simon to collect himself a little. Kieren doesn’t think he’s seen Simon cry, but he’s seen that distant look he’s wearing right now. Maybe that’s the closest Simon gets.

Simon nods, “I don’t remember it. Luckily, I guess. First thing I remember is the treatment centre. Or, what became a treatment centre. It was more of a warehouse with some lab equipment.” Kieren avoids looking at Simon, getting up and starting toward the doors. He doesn’t want to push him any further so he just stores that bit of information away in his head for some other time.

They get on and he walks Simon down the train, away from the busiest carriage where everybody’s getting on. He knows they won’t have an entire carriage to themselves. There are way more people boarding than this morning, but he can still find somewhere quiet. The next one is still busy so Kieren leads Simon through yet another set of doors. He knows he’s getting faster as he goes but he’s upset. He wants some privacy for Simon. He feels unreasonably guilty about not being able to protect him from his past; the least he can do is allow Simon his privacy.

“Here.” Simon decides on a seat, the first one in the third carriage. “Here is fine.” Kieren looks around a little wearily but there are only a few people down the other end. He’s not trying to hide but he doesn’t want anybody giving Simon crap, in case he can’t handle it right now. He’s constantly reminded of Simon’s strength but he’s never heard him that close to crying and he never wants to again. He doesn’t think Simon would have the strength to jump to their defence like the protective boyfriend he’s proven himself to be.

When he doesn’t react beyond freezing, Simon kicks Kieren’s boot. Kieren takes a second to fix his face from anger to blankness, turns around and sits down. Simon leans his head on Kieren’s shoulder as soon as he hits the chair. Kieren links their arms together, and Simon whispers, “What’s wrong?” in his ear.

“You,” he whispers back like it’s obvious, because it should be, “I love you.”

“Oh.” It sounds a lot like surprise. The idea of Simon not being used to being cared about breaks his heart a little. Kieren doesn’t need to hear it back. He knows from past actions, and right now from the way Simon is stoking the fabric of Kieren’s unzipped hoodie, eyes distant. He smiles to himself, pretty sure there’s not much better you can do for a person than be able to comfort them by presence alone. You’re a sap, he thinks to himself, and you like it.

Kieren wants to talk but doesn’t know what to say, just wants to fill the silence between them. He can practically hear Simon thinking. “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with T.”

He hears something muffled before Simon unfolds enough to be heard. “If it’s train I swear to god I’m not playing, Kieren.”

Kieren says nothing.

“It’s train isn’t it.”

“No,” Kieren lies. In his defence he was only trying to cheer Simon up, he hadn’t really thought his eye spy through.

“ _Sure_. Okay… table?” That’s a better one than train and Kieren almost goes for it before he spots something less obvious.

“No.”

Simon actually straightens a little more and takes a look around, chin still on Kieren’s shoulder. “Is it … t…trainers?”

Kieren nods and Simon starts his go, guessing something obvious.

They trade back and forth for a while and Kieren notes it works surprisingly well for a spur of the moment distraction technique. Maybe that’s why it was a staple for long car journeys right from when Jem was old enough to spell. His dad always went for abstract nouns, Kieren remembers being ten and incredibly frustrated trying to guess the word beginning with A that his dad insisted was everywhere. It gives him an idea. “I’ve got one! Okay I spy something beginning with A.”

“Erm apple, like an iphone? Adidas?”

“Nope.”

“Ah a _ambiguous countryside?”_

“No. No it’s not that vague. You can see millions of them.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

 “Kieren can I actually see it?”

“Yes.” He thinks about it. “Sort of.”

“A dust particle.”

“Okay that’s closer.

 “I give up.”

“No. Come on, think about it.”

Simon ponders, giving it more than a quick consideration.

“Shit, I got it!” he’s a little too loud, lit up, “Atoms.”

Kieren’s weirdly proud. “Yep.”

“That’s so cheating.”

After that the flood gates open and they’re using all kinds of stupid stuff they can’t see. Somehow the game lasts almost the entire way home. Kieren doesn’t mind though because it has cheered Simon back up to his usual level of enthusiasm, which, okay, isn’t astoundingly positive but neither is Kieren all of the time.

 

*

 

Two stops before theirs, the remaining passengers on their carriage get off. Kieren hadn't paid any attention to the family but now they’re stood ready for the door they’re noisy enough to break through his bubble. He notices the youngest boy, around six, staring transfixed at them, a dead weight on his mother’s arm. She looks around and makes eye contact with Kieren for the first time but quickly looks away, shaking her head slightly. The boy doesn't notice his mum’s reaction. Kieren waves at him gingerly and, to his surprise, gets a wave back as the boy disappears, pulled from their line of sight. Simon watches the exchange silently but when Kieren turns back Simon has a small proud look rather than his customary smirk. It looks really good on him and Kieren vows to see it again. Simon sinks back down in his seat so he’s leaning equally against the wall and upholstery, slings his arm up invitingly. Kieren snuggles down into him like he’d been dying to do since they got on.

The sun starts setting before they reach Roarton. When they disembark the sky is streaked with orange that blends in to pinks, twisting behind clouds that seem to glow. Kieren stands still on the platform for a while, just taking it in.

“I love the way you see the world,” Simon remarks.

Kieren stops staring to fix Simon with a pointed look. “Tacky.”

“No, I mean like you’re examining a painting.”

Kieren rolls his eyes, still too proud to admit that he loves Simon’s poetic nonsense, enduring cynicism aside. “Come on,” he says, looking up at Simon. His face is covered by shadow that moves as he talks, Kieren notices, involuntarily proving Simon right.

For the first time in a while Kieren doesn't even notice Rick’s old house.

During the journey Kieren had relaxed, but as they reach his house Kieren feels a slight twist of nerves in his usually still lower stomach. He’s going to do this, invite Simon in _for the night_ for the first time. They've shared a bed before, but never without one of Kieren’s family home. Never with these intentions.

His hands shake as he unlocks the door, takes a breath and steps inside. Simon stands beside him sighs and in his driest voice asks, “Do you want to watch a Blu-ray?”

For a second Kieren wonders if it’s a joke but realises he can’t count the number of family films they've sat through together and he laughs, genuine and warm. The tension dissipates as he watches the way Simon’s eyes are crinkling with laughter. Kieren’s resolve solidifies.

Kieren plays along, “What about a cuppa tea. Tea Simon? Oh of course not, sorry.” His poor mum can’t override her British formalities.

“No thanks Mrs Walker.”

“It’s Sue.” Kieren says, leaning back against the door until it clicks on the latch, arms crossed over his chest. Kieren takes a deep breath. “Si.”

Simon is keeling down to untying his shoes but his hands still and he looks up. “I like that.” So does Kieren.

 “Nice socks.” Kieren comments, sarcastically when Simon's taken one of his shoes off, because they’re so not Simon. They’re Pacman for Christ’s sake.

“Thanks,” Simon replies without a hint of irony, Kieren rolls his eyes.

He hangs up his scarf and starts up the stairs while Simon’s working on his other shoe, a soft leather brogue type thing that’s seen better days. He pauses halfway up and turns around to see Simon getting up, grins cheekily and asks, “Are you coming?” He forces all the suggestion he can muster into the words. Kieren’s pretty sure he can see his implicit meaning sinking in on Simon’s face, his eyes widening visibly even from this distance.

Simon runs, faster than he had done on the beach, across the hall and up the stairs after Kieren who takes off too, making it into a chase. Simon had the head start though and catches up to him upstairs, trapping Kieren against a closed bedroom door with a hand either side. His touch though is a stark comparison. He tilts Kieren’s jaw upward with a feather touch of his index finger so he can kiss him, leaves his fingers there, other hand going to the shoulder and resting there. Simon kisses so gently, lips moving in slow presses that have never felt so teasing. Kieren leans forward, grabs Simon’s coat in one hand, the other behind his neck, and presses firmer, moves faster and more urgently. He pulls back mere centimetres, too close for his eyes to focus properly. “You don’t have to be so gentle.”

Simon nods once and tries again, pushing his mouth against Kieren’s with parted lips, the ghost of breath flowing between them in a tickle. Kieren pinches Simon’s lower lip between his own, no teeth yet but it makes Simon tilt his head and run his tongue along the join of their mouths. Yes, that’s better he thinks and hums in approval. He doesn't see Simon’s eyes opening a slit at that noise. Reluctantly Simon pulls away, watching Kieren’s long eyelashes flicker as his eyes open. “I don’t think you were planning a snog here.” Simon says dryly but with a kind smile, finally removing the hand on Kieren’s chin.

Here being against Kieren’s parents’ bedroom door. “Not really.”

Simon moves his hands, releasing Kieren, “After you.”

Kieren walks calmly to his bedroom and sits down on his bed but his stomach is swirling. He touches the drying patch of saliva on his lips as Simon sits next to him. He doesn't say anything, just leans toward him and waits.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Simon says because he’s an absolutely fantastic boyfriend who can tell how Kieren’s feeling without any words. Kieren nods and Simon leans the rest of the way to kiss him, hands on either side of his face. They go straight for tongues and Simon holds his own, fights back a little bit. He’s a quick learner, Kieren thinks. When Simon strokes the hollow of his cheek and bites his lip, Kieren breathes out through his nose heavily enough for Simon to stop. But that’s okay because they really should take their coats off. Kieren shrugs out of his own woollen jacket, lets it fall to the floor and tugs at Simon’s parka with both hands. The fabric’s thin enough and the coat’s baggy enough that it doesn't really move.

Simon watches, smirking. “Would you like a hand with that?”

“I think I’m good,” Kieren says, despite making absolutely no progress.

Simon laughs, stands up so he can pull the sleeves off himself, “How about now, stubborn.”

“I had it all under control,” Kieren asserts, aware he’s pouting a little.

Simon leans down and kisses it off his face. “You can take off by jumper.”

Kieren laughs because that’s the smoothest thing he’s ever heard. “Deal.” Kieren puts his hand out for a shake.

Simon sits down again and takes off Kieren’s hoodie. Wraps arms around him and strokes the skin above his jeans, in the dip of his back. He can’t feel the warmth of skin but the sensation still leaves tingles underneath, still makes Kieren shiver and recapture Simon’s mouth with renewed urgency. He nibbles at Simon’s lips, threads a hand through Simon’s hair and sucks hard enough to elicit a deep moan. A moan that he drags out by pulling Simon’s hair hard and moving to bite his neck hard enough that it should hurt.

Simon fidgets under his grasp, writhing a little. Kieren lets go of his handful of hair and grabs the hem of Simon’s ugly patterned jumper. Simon shifts to help him but his shirt still rides up as Kieren pulls the sweater higher. Keeping hold of the wool with one hand, Kieren lightly presses his left hand against Simon’s stomach experimentally, concentrates on the soft curve, this dip of his navel and the wiry trail of hair below his palm. Simon exhales, and he feels the muscles shift underneath. It’s weird, not bad but the missing warmth is hard to get over.  He shakes his head to clear it and pulls Simon’s jumper the rest of the way over his head.

“Okay?” Simon asks patiently. Kieren just kisses him.

“Your shoes are still on,” Simon points out, wriggling his own socked toes when Kieren looks down to check. He curses and Simon slips off the edge of the bed. “Let me get that.”

Kieren feels a bit awkward as Simon kneels in front of him and starts loosening his laces. He doesn’t really know what to do so he undoes Simon’s top button, his hands shaking too much for it to be efficient. He’s only managed to get one undone by the time Simon sits back and pulls at Kieren’s boots. Kieren laughs when nothing happens and tilts his foot to the correct angle. Simon literally throws them behind him, one after another. Then he leans back up and buries his face in the fabric of Kieren’s shirt, above his heart, and undoes his shirt much more quickly than Kieren had been.

Kieren slips his hands under the collar, strokes over Simon’s collar bone then his shoulders, feeling how broad they are, how much bigger Simon is than him. Kieren is skinny in a way he doesn’t think he would have grown out of even if he had got the chance, but Simon’s got that manly build. He feels tiny by comparison. He’s okay with it though because by some miracle Simon looks at him like he is the lucky one, not Kieren.

Simon freezes when Kieren gets the shirt over his shoulders. Just sits staring at his face, biting his lip so the blue tint shows. “Do you remember… when I said we all have our scars?”

“Mm.” Vividly.

Simon takes a deep breath and lets it out, not breaking eye contact. “I have one more to show you. A big one. I want you to know it doesn’t hurt, okay?”

Kieren doesn’t know that to say to that so he just repeats, “Okay,” and Simon stands up and turns around, letting his shirt slide the rest of the way down his arms until it hangs off his wrists.

Kieren gasps, throwing his hand up too late to silence himself. A line runs all the way down Simon’s spine. It’s blackened with the same thick necrotic blood that peeks between Kieren’s stiches. The difference is that it’s pulling tight against the staples, still very much open. Kieren can see a hint of white at the bottom, where the wound is most poorly sutured, that he hopes to god that it isn’t bone. It’s gruesome and there’s no avoiding his shocked exclamation of,  “Oh my god, Simon.” Before he knows it Kieren’s stood behind him, hands curled into fists. He forcibly uncurls them and places a hand on either of Simon’s shoulders, pulling him around. “Is that what they did at the treatment centre?” he can’t keep his voice quite level.

Simon nods.

“Shit.”

To his surprise, Simon laughs. “Angry is better than grossed out, I guess,” he explains and lets the sleeves fall the rest of the way off over his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

Kieren has to agree with the first part. He takes his own shirt off, actually looking at his wrists for the first time in ages. They could be so much worse. He hates them for the story they carry, the way they reveal it to anybody who looks. But at least he had control. At least they weren't inflicted by somebody he trusted to help him. He’s put the pieces of Simon’s past together and he has this sinking feeling he’s correct. “I’m sorry,” he offers, trying his best to show just how heartfelt that is by his expression.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still.” He pulls Simon close by the shoulders and attaches them at the mouth letting Simon lead. He’s slower, gentler and more handsy than Kieren but that’s nice because now Kieren wants to think. He shuffles forward, slowly wraps an arm around Simon. Feet are an obstacle but Simon doesn't seem to mind his weight on them so Kieren keeps shifting until they’re close enough for his liking. Then he shows his tongue deeper into Simon’s mouth and presses himself up against him. They’re touching all the way down, skin on skin pulling slightly, Simon’s crotch against his hip, hard already. But when Simon shifts and moans he can feel Simon’s thigh rubbing against his own dick. He gasps at the contact, “Jesus.” He was not expecting that.

Simon looks pleased with himself, the fucker, “What’d I tell you?”

Kieren thinks back. “That it would be more difficult but it’s still possible.”

Simon smirks, “Well yeah, but later I said not all your sensation is gone.” He punctuates this with another grind, slow and long.

“Oh my god,” Kieren breathes, “take your jeans off. Now.”

Simon does as he’s told, opening his fly and looking even more pleased with himself than a second ago. Kieren isn’t watching though because he’s fumbling with his own belt. Simon steps out of his trousers and motions with a ‘one second’ gesture, walking over to Kieren’s desk. Fighting against the ankles of his socks, bunched up from the beach, Kieren wonders what he’s doing but hears the whir of his CD player opening its tray. He finally gets both his socks and jean legs off and throws himself back onto his bed in time to watch Simon walking back over, legs pale against black boxers and his ridiculous socks. The opening song is playing quietly but Kieren doesn't recognise it.

He doesn’t care about the music anymore when Simon lies next to him and traces a fingertip over the lines of his bicep. Down toward his elbow, around and into the crook, stroking down his forearm to the back of his hand before pulling Kieren’s arm up and to softly kissing the cut. Kieren braces for the pain that doesn’t come then relaxes, slightly overwhelmed by the symbolism.

He decides the best way to get over that is more kissing. He’s right. He kisses and runs his hands all over Simon’s chest like he’s studying it, like he’s got to make a sculpture. But after the contact they’d had standing it doesn’t feel enough. Kieren twists up onto his knees and pushes Simon flat onto his back. Simon’s face falls for a second, but his smile is straight back with twice the force when Kieren leans over him, pinning Simon’s hips down onto the bed with his weight. “I’ll be the judge of what I want, okay, stop thinking I’m not into this,” he whispers into the air above Simon’s face.

Simon leans upward to kiss him, the position shifting Kieren down just enough to make it count. He moans, open mouthed against Simon’s neck but remembers his concern. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Simon gasps out and shifts again.

Satisfied with the answer, Kieren grinds down properly. “I know you think I’m a total virgin, but I’m an expert at this.” It’s the closest thing to dirty talk Kieren’s ever said but it’s also true.

“Yeah,” Simon pants, presumably in agreement of Kieren’s self-proclaimed prowess.

Kieren starts up a rhythm, purposely slow. His pants are sticking with more precum than can possibly be his alone but there’s no sweat beading on his back. There’s also no strain on his muscles so he takes his time.

He bites at Simon’s neck and jaw alternating between teeth and wet kisses. He circles his fingertips over Simon’s pecs, traces his ribs and kisses those too. Simon strokes along his back like before but over a wider area, one hand dipping lower under his waistband to grab his buttock.

A few minutes of heavy breathing and Simon seems to be beyond the point of even small words that aren’t ‘Kier’ or ‘yes’. He can’t help himself after that, watching mister poetry and bible verses fall apart is so rewarding.

“Kier. Kier… Kieren” Simon breathes, quickly enough in succession for him to open his eyes and look up from the spot at the crook of Simon’s shoulder he’d been sucking on. As soon as he does, Simon runs a hand through his hair and pulls their mouths together, pushing his tongue against Kieren’s rougher than ever and making Kieren speed up even more.

Simon pulls away with a wet plop and Kieren goes to complain at the loss but Simon’s head is thrown back, eyes screwed shut. It’s so beautiful, the sight of him silently coming. Kieren doesn’t stop, doesn’t look away. He’s transfixed and honestly hornier than he’s ever been.

“Oh my god,” he whispers and Simon’s eyes shoot open.

He looks embarrassed. “Sorry. Anticipation.”

Kieren shakes his head with a huff, stilling himself. “Si, I do not mind at bloody all! Okay.”

Simon smiles. “But at least let me…”

He leaves it hanging but places a hand on Kieren’s shoulder. Kieren smiles when Simon playfully pushes him off, exaggerates his landing. Simon lightly pressures him to lie down, walks along on his knees, lower down the bed. Kieren takes a deep breath, raising one hand behind his head to watch Simon pull at his waistband, sliding his pants down and off his skinny legs. Jesus Christ. When Simon bends down, though, he decides if he actually wants to experience this then watching isn’t the best strategy. He can feel Simon’s mouth closing around his cock and as much as that’s a medical mystery he doesn’t even think about it, just breathes through his nose in little shallow breaths and grabs at the sheets. So much of his concentration goes into being considerate and not moving that it feels like every part of him is frozen in place.

It's overwhelming, going from the numb void of half feeling to enveloping warmth. It's too much but not enough and Kieren can't handle it for long. He concentrates on breathing and counts twenty bobs of the head before he calls out a warning. Simon pulls off and uses his hand instead, nuzzling at Kieren’s hipbone, cheek flat on his stomach.

Kieren swears when he comes. Simon thinks it’s funny which would usually make him all indignant but nothing can get through his cloud of relief. He’s vaguely aware of Simon wiping them both with Kieren’s boxers.

“I felt that,” is the first thing Kieren says once he’s finished hyperventilating.

Simon has come back up to lay level, thumb stroking over Kieren’s cheekbone. He finally listens enough to recognise Bleed American.  He wouldn’t have pegged Simon as a Jimmy Eat World fan but he wants to share everything with him and sex and music is a good starting place.

“Sorry I didn’t swallow,” Simon says, picking imaginary problems again, Kieren waves a dismissive hand but Simon continues, “I don’t think my stomach differentiates.” Ew, isn’t black vomit a lovely mental image right now. Kieren chooses to ignore it.

“I felt that,” Kieren repeats, aware he’s a broken record. “I swear I did. I’m going to ask my dad.” Kieren realises what he just said, laughing at Simon’s exaggerated disgusted face. “Not about sex, you pervert. About nerves... He has to know enough to cover for doctors so he should know...?” Kieren ends in a question.

“You nerd,” Simon says affectionately, stroking Kieren’s scalp, “enjoy your orgasm and stop thinking about science.”

Kieren agrees and snuggles up to Simon’s side. That’s possibly the best advice he’s heard all day.

The next song is slow and Simon sings against his ear. Kieren’s instantly trapped in his deep croon. Simon singing doesn’t sound anything like he expected, but it’s a croaky kind of beautiful. He's surprised that Simon knows all the words. Kieren closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything, but he has a new favourite track.

Kieren’s peaceful glow soon becomes tiredness. It must be mutual because around his fifth stifled yawn, Simon moves. He peels the corner and slides underneath the duvet. Then he yanks the corner out from underneath the ball Kieren had curled up into and holds it open invitingly. Kieren uncoils and crawls up to him but stops when something catches his eye. There are the track marks, he’s seen those and doesn’t dwell on them any longer, but Simon’s never lifted his bare arm like that before.

“You have tattoo?” Kieren asks but realises what a stupid question that is so tries again. “What does it say?” Simon watches silently as Kieren traces the black script from nearly armpit to nearly elbow. He can’t make out the words, so he turns to face Simon.

“‘Rage against the dying of the light’… in Gaelic.”

Kieren remembers what Simon had said about epitaphs and smiles. “It suits you.”

He snuggles against Simon, taking his position as little spoon and making sure they both have some pillow. Simon makes a small noise in thanks so Kieren keeps talking. “I wanted a tattoo, once I’d left home that is. Mum nearly killed Jem when she got that ear piercing at fourteen… I thought if I was at uni I stood a chance of hiding it… I wanted a bit of Starry Night… Here” Simon leans up to watch him trace over the skin below the crook of his elbow. The area is covered in thin, white criss-crossing lines. They’re too plentiful and straight to be accidental.

Simon understands completely, he’s got a matching patch on his thigh, but he doesn’t mention it. “I got my tongue pierced once.” He laughs to himself. “Yes, I was that gay.”

“What happened to it?” Kieren asks innocently.

“The paramedics took it out for the MRI… when I OD’d and had a fit.” It’s a serious conversation killer and Simon almost wishes he hadn’t said it, but they’re doing a lot of soul baring today. “I think you should get it. The tattoo I mean. You’re what… twenty three now.”

“Maybe.” Kieren says wistfully and then clears his throat. Simon thinks he’s going to talk more about body art but what Kieren says is, “Take your pants off. You’ll regret it in the morning when they’re all dried on with jizz.”

He shuffles to do so, also removing his socks because he can’t sleep otherwise. He manages without having to get up and rolls back to Kieren, wrapping his arms protectively, skin on skin but so much more innocent. “Night.”

“Night” Kieren replies, kissing Simon’s hand. He falls asleep before the CD finishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first piece for the amazing In The Flesh fandom. It's also the longest fic I've ever written and that's due to the amazing quality of both the show and the fics on here for inspiring me to actually finish something. This goes out to anybody whose work I've ever read on this site.
> 
> The title comes from this quote: 'Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.' - Martin Luther King, Jr.


	2. Only Light Can Do That

Kieren doesn’t sleep all the way through the night. He’s not really surprised, but still feels a little disappointed that he has nightmares even with Simon’s breathing to ground him. He wakes up just as the sun starts to rise, red showing through the slit where the curtains aren’t fully closed. Simon’s shifted in his sleep so he’s now face down in the pillow, only his hand still in contact with Kieren. He shifts slowly, waiting until Simon moves his arm before he tries to get up. He’s trying so hard not to wake him, not because he’s especially thoughtful but because he thinks Simon will just pull him close. He won’t be able to sleep again until he’s done something. It’s always been like that, even back when his worst nightmares were embarrassing himself rather than the people he loves dying.

Simon hums and rolls over and Kieren stands, squinting around to figure out what that electronic whirring sound is. He shrugs, feeling naked in the emotional sense of the word as well as the literal and pads over to his chest of drawers. He feels for the right drawer, lifting the front up slightly when he opens it to reduce the squeak. Then he hears the noise again and it strikes his sleep-addled brain what it is. “Ah,” he says aloud and puts on a random pair of pants. He switches the CD player off, not taking out the CD yet because the lid isn’t silent like the room is. Except for the slight running sound of the boiler starting up two rooms over, but Simon’s probably used to that by now.

He can see the contents of the desk well enough to grab a pencil, but he can’t read the softness so he digs a nail against the tip. It crumbles slightly. He also grabs his torch. He has a favourite spot to sit against his wall and he knows it off by heart: an arm’s length to the right of his light switch. He knows his sketch book is directly in front of him. He can reach it from this position, so he switches the torch on, unscrews the bulb end slightly so it’s dimmer and grabs the book. His top is conveniently near to him so he puts that on too. He doesn’t want to have to look at his wrists if he doesn’t have to, even in the dim light. Baby steps.

He doesn’t normally take too much care over his late night (or early morning, technically) drawings but Simon isn’t usually naked in his bed. So he sketches Simon, working on the outlines of his shoulders and the way the fabric of the creases around them: the square of his shoulder blades contrasting with the soft drape. It’s academic really, a study of form, he tells himself. He can tell himself that all he wants but he still won’t be showing his family, this one’s a private drawing. As he rounds the basic line of Simon’s outstretched hand, Kieren silently thanks Simon for suggesting they swap Kieren’s and Amy’s beds over so they can sleep alongside each other. They had squeezed on Kieren’s single a couple of times but it felt a bit like a sleepover and it’s been five years since Kieren had one. Even then it was a bit of a squeeze. He suspects it’s been even longer for Simon. Having a proper grown-up couple bed is definitely more comfortable, and despite the evidence to the contrary, it really is easier for Kieren to find sleep when he’s being held.

The torch flickers and Kieren screws the end back a little way, checking that it’s not shining anywhere near Simon’s eyes. The sketch is starting to take shape but the perspective on Simon’s forearm looks off. Kieren tilts his head and balances the book on his knees so the angles are more similar then traces an alternate line, slightly more bent. That works. Kieren finishes the new outline then looks up again to study the real thing. He stifles a yawn and draws some rough hatching so he’ll remember where the shadow fell when he picks it up again. He definitely will, he loves this intimacy, loves being able to study his subject completely unnoticed.

His limbs feel too heavy when he gets up. He’s not sure how long he spent sketching only that it was too long. He yawns again, stows his book away and craws back under the covers. Simon reflexively shifts when the weight of the mattress changes and Kieren uses the opportunity to lay his head on Simon’s back. It feels nice. He pulls his knees up, tucking the corner of the duvet between them so he can scrunch it in his hands, twists it until he falls asleep.

 

*

 

The second time Kieren is woken up is suddenly by a car alarm. It throws him, being thrust from deep sleep to awake so quickly. He’s a little disorientated.

“Kieren.” Simon’s voice echoes through his ribs and back where Kieren’s ear is, coming out incredibly deep. Kieren picks up his head to look around, mutters an approximation of Simon’s name that gets caught up in a yawn. Simon kisses his hair good morning as Kieren starts the long process of shifting to sit up against the headboard. He has to stretch first. He can’t feel any stiffness in his joints but he definitely has reduced mobility first thing. He pulls a face at the cracking sound as he rotates his wrists. When they’re both upright Kieren asks the time. He can see nearly everything in the room by the light leaking around the curtains so it’s obviously morning.

“Nearly ten… what were you dreaming about?” Simon asks, sounding like he’s been awake longer. He’s stroking Kieren’s arm through his sleeve subconsciously, with a slight frown that means he’s been alone with his thoughts for too long.

“Amy,” Kieren says matter of factly, noticing Simon wince. “It was a nice dream, boring apart from her. We worked in a pub,” Kieren laughs at the mundaneness. “It wasn’t a bad one, okay.” He’d had the bad one earlier in the night but Simon doesn’t need to know that. “What about you?”

 “I’ve been awake for a while, can’t remember.” Kieren can see the movement of Simon shrugging out the corner of his eye; he wonders how long Simon lay there, still enough to avoid waking him. “What do you want to do today?”

Kieren has an answer to that one. “How about bugger all?” He feels Simon slide down a little, assuming the ultimate slouch. “Oh” Kieren exclaims as he remembers, “before you get comfy can you do my Neurotryptoline?” He’s been forgetting it more and more lately, even moved the trigger into his room so he’d see it. Kieren swings his legs round, standing up on his jacket and kicking it aside with the ball of his heel. “There has got to be a better system for sex than just leaving your clothes everywhere,” he moans, piling things up roughly by kicking them. His boots are lying in the way of the door so he picks them up, standing them out of the doorway so nobody trips. “Here,” he says, plonking Simon’s shirt on the duvet. When he looks up at Simon’s face he’s staring. “What?”

“When did you get up?”

Shit. He’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing the pants when he went to sleep, but the shirt makes it pretty obvious. “I woke up, probably like three or something. I was having flashbacks and I couldn’t sleep... I get them sometimes, okay, don’t worry.” He grabs the Neurotryptoline injector but it hangs limp in his hand when he hears Simon.

“I don’t have nightmares when you’re next to me,” Simon’s voice is small. Of course he doesn’t, Kieren thinks, even Simon’s subconscious is the perfect fucking gentleman that only serves to make Kieren look bad.

“I don’t always,” he defends because it’s true. Sometimes he sleeps all the way through, and more often than not it’s when Simon’s there with him. “Not when you’re there. But these things take time.” He’s sure Simon’s been told that enough but Kieren can’t hear it too often, even from his own mouth.

Simon nods. “I know, sorry.” He gets up and walks over to Kieren, naked and dishevelled, and takes the dispenser off him. “Turn around,” he mumbles.

Kieren’s flashbacks with administration have petered out but it’s still a little uncomfortable, especially since Gary poured that Blue Oblivion into the site. He gasps when Simon presses the trigger and his spine fills with heat. He lifts a hand in response, watches it shake in the air just so he has something to concentrate on that isn’t the pain. It will be over quickly but his pain threshold is pathetically low now he has no comparison.

Simon turns him round gently, strokes his face and asks if he’s okay, mouth set deep and unreadable. “Are you..? Is that normal?” Kieren nods, he hadn’t really been worried about it until now. “How long - how long has it been like this, Kier?”

Kieren frowns. “December, since Gary fucked about with the drugs. Why Simon. What’s wrong?” He pulls a hand up to rub at his nose, coming away with a little smudge of black. “That’s new though.” He wipes it more with the back of his hand.

Simon’s too deep in thought to be grossed out. He shakes his head slowly a few times like he isn’t ready to answer. “You know Amy stopped taking the homemade stuff, went to the doctors with nosebleeds, tremors, all that. And they sent her away again with a new prescription. She started having fits.” How did Kieren not know this? “But then, well… Maxine… and she  _bled_.” Simon takes a deep breath, curls and uncurls his free hand at his side. “Kieren I think we should go to the doctor’s.”

“Okay,” Kieren agrees, without arguing because Simon’s honestly scaring him a little.

“Where do you keep the number? I’ll see if they have any appointments.”

“Okay. But just put some pants on.” Simon looks like he’s going to argue. “You’re going to have to go downstairs.” Full on naked Simon stressing out is a bit too much to handle.

“Yeah.” Simon takes the same pair of boxers from yesterday and steps into them, in too much of a rush to think about it. Then he puts on his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, and leads the way downstairs.

Simon seems to freeze as soon as he gets into the hall, like he’s just realised this is Kieren’s house. Kieren continues past Simon into the lounge and picks up the phone, and then back through the hall into the kitchen. He walks up to the fridge and peers around, looking for the correct scrap of paper. He waves it when he finds it, pinned up with a banana magnet. He takes a deep breath and dials, looks up to Simon entering the room, checks the digits and pushes the green button. He practices what he’s going to say to the sound of the dial tone. Simon leans against the door frame while Kieren paces. The laminate flooring unsticking from his bare feet and the ringing phone are the only sounds in the room

“Hello, Roarton Valley Practice, how may I help you?” The receptionist who was attacked is back, Kieren recognises her bored, unprofessional tone.

“Erm hi,” Kieren breathes, “can I make an appointment? For Kieren Walker.”

“Is it urgent? We’re closed this afternoon.”

“It’s kind of urgent.” It comes out as a question and Simon walks over, stills Kieren’s pacing with a hand on his shoulder and mouths ‘yes’.

“Living or PDS?” she asks. Weird, she must know his name, surely.

“What?” Kieren protests. Simon can obviously hear because he looks just as unimpressed as Kieren feels.

“Living or PDS?” she repeats, still as flat.

“Look I don’t – PDS but I don’t see what it matters!” He wants to start pacing again, faster, but he settles for pinching the bridge of his nose.

She ignores the outburst. “Would you like the PDS helpline?”

“No thank you.”

“The PDS helpline is open longer hours and you can access it from your home.”

“No,” Kieren sighs audibly over the mouthpiece, “I want to make an appointment. Like I said. With Doctor Russo.”

“Let me look at his slots,” Kieren rolls his eyes, looks over and sees Simon’s clenched jaw. “Okay…” He hears typing noises, “Twelve twenty-five okay?”

“Perfect.” Kieren forces some sugar into his voice to hide the sarcasm when he says, “Thank you.”

Simon’s barely waits for him to hang up before he’s moaning, “Bloody hell she doesn’t like you!” That might have a bit more to do with Simon but he’ll gladly take her rage for him.

“She did think I set rabids on her,” Kieren reasons, ignoring the part where Simon actually wanted to set them free because it’s not the same thing at all. “Ironically I kind of want to now.”

Simon snorts a laugh through his nose. “I like this feisty side.” He seems to have relaxed now Kieren’s got an appointment booked.

“Oh yeah?” Kieren challenges, squaring his shoulders.

“Yeah.”

Kieren means to reply with something cheeky but Simon kisses him, lifting Kieren’s hands above his head and holding them there, pinned to the fridge. He’s urgent about it, like he’s kissing away all of his stress. It’s really nice for a change from the gentle Simon who kissed him like he’s going to spook and push him away. Kieren licks Simon’s lips, his teeth, his tongue, and melts into the touch. He lets Simon pinch his lips with his teeth and sighs contentedly when Simon moves to bite his ear lobe. “Mmmm… We should probably get dressed,” Kieren intervenes just as it’s bordering on more; they are in their pants after all, barely wearing more than last night. “Before you distract me and we have to walk there like this.” He waves a hand to encompass their bare legs and Simon’s chest. Simon’s hair is too thick to stand upright; it flops over his forehead in a way Kieren prefers to the formal gelled look. Kieren, on the other hand, is sure he’s got serious bed hair.

“Fair point.”

They go back upstairs, Simon disappearing into Kieren’s room while he gets two towels. He shows Simon how the shower works which basically amounts to not adjusting anything. On weekdays Kieren always showers last so he won’t have to deal with Jem bitching at him about using up hot water when he doesn’t even need it. With his experience of the cold sea he’s grateful they’ve never completely run out. It also makes him feel a bit better about fighting Jem on that one.

While Simon showers he picks up all the clothing off the floor, making a pile of Simon’s clothes next to the khaki duffel bag that Kieren had totally pegged him as owning, approximately folded. He throws his jeans in the wash because they’re stiff with evaporated seawater and obviously his underwear. He hangs his jacket and Simon’s coat on the back of his chair, smiling at the domesticity of shared spaces. Then Simon comes out of the bathroom, padding across the carpet holding the towel around himself at the hip. His other hand is running through his hair which is only slightly damp. Kieren watches him walk in, studies his chest full on for the first time in any detail. He’s hairier than Kieren had noticed in the dim light yesterday, but not unpleasantly so. He administers Simon’s dose while he’s shirtless and the little hole on his back is easily accessible. Fighting past collars is just an unnecessary complication. He frowns when Simon unpacks his homemade medication, sniffing at the vial of brown liquid that doesn’t quite mix before he draws it up. He can’t smell anything with his limited senses but he still doesn’t like the look of the stuff, it’s a bit too much like particularly murky dishwater.

Afterwards Kieren grabs his towel and a clean pair of pants and darts into the bathroom. He turns the shower on and stands under the spray, listing the things he needs to tell Dr. Russo out loud. He washes his body then uses Jem’s shampoo because it smells really good, even if it’s just a memory or whatever; she’s not here to yell at him for using it up. Plus he really likes having his hair played with and he hopes it’ll be too soft to resist. He dries and steps into his underwear before wrapping the towel around himself like a dress.

Simon’s pulling on jeans when Kieren gets back, his black and grey patterned turtleneck is set out with a plain black top on the bed. Kieren thinks he’s seen that combination before and wonders if Simon has a mental list of acceptable outfit combinations. He noses through the wardrobe while Simon pulls the t-shirt on. When he turns back around, jeans in hand, Simon is the most casually dressed he’s seen him. He’s not sure about it, Simon just looks more comfortable with chunky woollen sweaters. Right now he actually kind of looks like a teacher on non-uniform day. Not bad, as such, just not quite right, unexpected. Simon notices his staring and looks up, “What?”

“Nothing,” Kieren assures, pulling his towel slightly higher, “I like that jumper.” It’s almost true. He likes Simon in that jumper, more accurately, but that’s just unbearably sentimental to say out loud.

 Simon grabs a handful of the fabric and strokes at it like he doesn’t trust the complement. “It’s comfy.”

Kieren had started putting more effort into his fashion choices post mortem, after all the new clothes he had to buy but right now he’s not in the mood for it. He choses the first pair of jeans and only considers his top half when he sits down to put them on. He looks for a top long enough so he won’t have to find a belt too, settling on a nondescript grey one.

It doesn’t take long enough for Kieren get dressed or blow dry his hair and before long they’re sat on the sofa in front of the TV with the news on. They're not watching it. Simon glances up at the clock on the mantle for the third time in the ten minutes since they’ve been there and Kieren can’t help but follow his gaze. They still have about three quarters of an hour before they have to leave, and he’s going crazy, tapping his leg up and down on the floor fast enough to shake the settee. Simon makes him jump by suddenly standing up. “Is that a PlayStation 2 controller?” he asks even as he’s walking toward the screen to answer his own question, “what games d’you have?”

Kieren gets up and stands at the bookcase, reading the titles out until something takes Simon’s fancy.

“Erm, Ratchet And Clank?” Simon decides once he’s finished, asking it as a question.

The start-up sound plays as Kieren hands over the disk, telling him, “Fine with me.” Kieren’s so glad they kept the PlayStation. He hasn’t played it yet because it’s only recently made it back downstairs, one day Jem just decided it was theirs again rather than hers. In the same week she donated all her zombie shooter games to a charity shop. Not that she’s played any since what happened with Henry but still, it was a nice sign of acceptance. Simon passes him the second controller and Kieren realises two things. One, he’s got some competition so maybe Simon’s Pacman socks weren’t as uncharacteristic as he thought. Two, Simon’s a genius: the time flies by.

 

*

 

Kieren walks up to the counter alone to announce his arrival. He knows that the receptionist will definitely recognise Simon and she’s already given him enough trouble today. He’s got over it by now and he’s willing to forgive her if she can just stay professional. God, he hates living in a small, gossipy village. “Kieren Walker, I have an appointment soon.” He waits while she signs him in on the computer, watching her painted nails tap on the keys.

“Okay. Take a seat and wait for your name on the monitor. Doctor Russo will be through the doors to the left.”

While she’s talking Kieren looks up at her and spots the scar on her neck, still new vibrant purple skin. He can’t help himself, “I’m honestly glad you’re better, I’m sorry about what happened to you.” He pointedly doesn’t think about how much worse it could have been but he’s sure she knows.

She doesn’t seem particularly thankful, Kieren thinks, but why should she? She just stares at him for too long to be polite. He starts to regret saying anything but then; finally, she says very quietly, “I know it wasn’t you.” He nods and turns to the waiting area, looking for where Simon’s sat. Maybe she’s just scared, even if she knows it wasn’t him, she’d got used to him as the bad guy. Hopefully it’s that and she’s not just another xenophobe. She could really affect PDS sufferers with her position of power if she so wanted and as per usual there would be nobody even trying to stop it.

Simon has chosen the seats against the wall, facing the mountains. It’s quite impressive that they managed to get the spray paint off, there’s no trace of the tag now. Just the massive print looking like it has been stolen from a ski resort. “Why do they have that painting?” Simon asks as he sits down.

He shakes his head and shrugs, “It’s been there since I can remember.” He takes Simon’s hand. “I told her I didn’t do it.”

“Did she believe you?”

“Must do. The village council have left me alone so they obviously found some better evidence than quitting my job.” Because he’s convinced Pearl wouldn’t have stood for it if he’d still been her favourite employee. He almost doesn’t want to know the next part but he asks anyway, “Simon, was it one of your lot…?”

 _Ding!_ Kieren looks round to the monitor to see his name displayed and drops the question for now. “Come in with me?”

“Of course.”

The doctor calls Kieren in straight away when he knocks, “Hello Kieren,” he’s greeted as he enters, “Simon.” His eyes go to their joint hands and Kieren thinks he sees him smile slightly. It’s gone when he faces them. “So Kieren, have you been having any problems?”

“Yes for,” he takes the seat being gestured to, “for a while I’ve been in discomfort after my Neurotryptoline injections. I thought it was a side effect o- of the Blue Oblivion. But then this morning my nose started bleeding after.”

Dr Russo scribbles as he speaks, “So since, what.. December?” Kieren nods. “And was your nose bleed darkened processed blood or was it fresh?”

“It was black,” Kieren informs.

It seems to answer the question because Russo nods and writes that down, “Anything else?”

Kieren pauses, thinking about it, but Simon speaks up, “He’s also been shaking, worse after injections, right Kier?” He nods again. “Like Amy,” Simon emphasises.

Russo looks away from his notes and his gaze falls somewhere between them, “Thank you, Simon. It’s nice for Kieren to have some support” Kieren looks at his lap and their still entwined hands as he listens. “So. There’s not really much about this in any literature. You know your friend Amy had side effects. But I thought that was from the homemade drug she was using. I made a forum post at the time and there were no other cases reported by doctors…”

“Symptoms,” Simon corrects.

“Huh?” Russo turns around in his office chair, attention going to Simon, as does Kieren’s.

“I think Amy’s problems were symptoms, not side effects.” He’s got this serious look on his face and Kieren can tell it’s been puzzling him, just one of the many things Simon’s been carrying.

Russo’s eyes narrow as he considers, widening suddenly with excitement, “You might be right, Simon! … I’ll do some tests on you now, Kieren. I don’t want to send anything away, but we can take some readings. I wouldn’t worry about the shaking too much but I’ll prescribe you some Neurotryptoline Plus and we can lower your dose a fraction. Is that okay?”

Kieren agrees and sits there while Russo makes a futile attempt at taking vital signs. The blood pressure cuff tightens then displays an error message. Russo can’t find a pulse or hear anything through the stethoscope, and his temperature comes out about the same as the room. The doctor assures him that these are all perfectly normal in PDS sufferers. The only thing that seems any different is his blood oxygen concentration. At first Russo retakes it, twice. Then he tests it, first on himself then on Simon, getting ninety-eight and zero respectively. Once he’s confirmed it’s working he places the clip on Kieren’s finger for the fourth time. Dr. Russo literally cheers with excitement when the little screen shows higher than zero. “You have oxygen in your tissues, Kieren.”

“Is that good?” Kieren asks, confused. How would oxygen get around his body without a heartbeat?

“It’s not much, it’s just down to diffusion, but your blood is thinning. Normally it’s too thick, you get a saturation of zero… You’re changing!” He’s smiling, grabbing onto Kieren’s arm and in that moment it’s obvious he got into medicine for the puzzles. “I wouldn’t worry about the shakes, and come to me if they get worse or anything else happens, but rest assured you’re showing none of the signs of tolerance to Neurotryptoline.” Kieren audibly sighs with relief and thanks him. “Oh and I think we should schedule another appointment,” he turns his gaze on Simon, “with both of you. I’ll ask Shirley to be here, she’s the community care officer, as you know, so she saw Amy more than me. I want to help you, okay Kieren. I want to know what’s happening.”

“Thank you. That would be good,” Kieren replies. He wants to know what Amy went through even if what’s happening to him is different. They were best friends; he should have been there for her and his heart breaks that he wasn’t. He was too wrapped up in his own shit to notice she needed somebody, that’s unforgivable.

“Yeah, appreciated,” Simon says, “I really worried him.”

Kieren wants to save face, pretend that it wasn’t his fault. But Simon’s apologising to him now,so he just shushes him, too embarrassed to try reassuring him.

“I don’t blame you after what happened to your friend,” Russo interrupts, “I’m sorry for your loss by the way, she was a special person.”

Kieren thanks him again and leaves, making a follow up appointment on the way out, this time hassle-free.

 

*

 

They visit Amy’s grave on the way home. Kieren tells her headstone about their daytrip then about his appointment and how he hates himself for not even knowing. “…You were too brave, Amy.” Simon doesn’t add anything, just strokes the stone, mouthing silent words Kieren can’t hear. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he suggests.

Rick’s grave is in the same site. Kieren goes to sit down in front of it like old times, but opts to squat when he sees how wet the grass is. He only says hello for a long time, squinting at the engraved words like he hasn’t read them a thousand times. “I’m happy, Rick,” he announces eventually, “I went back to the beach with Simon yesterday. Remember that place? It was nice.” He’s forgiven Rick for keeping them a secret, told him so when he found him. He feels bad for ever resenting being rick’s secret after what his father did. He didn’t know just how bad their relationship was, how abusive Bill was. His headstone is a reminder of the welcome back Rick got; it doesn’t have two dates engraved like Amy’s. Just the date in 2009, the date Bill decided his son was dead. “I still love you but I love Simon too.”

“Kier!” Simon shouts for him from across the graveyard. Kieren looks up and he’s being waved over so he trudges back over to Amy’s plot, focus down on the waterlogged grass as he blinks away the wetness in his eyes.

There’s another figure stood next to Simon that steps toward him when he gets close, pulling him into a crushing hug. He only catches an eyeful of buzzcut as he’s pulled close but his friend pool isn’t so large that that’s not enough. “Hi Philip.” Kieren returns the hug, patting Philip’s back and looking over his shoulder at Simon who shrugs. “Visiting?”

“Yeah,” he finally releases Kieren and talks animatedly at him. “I heard some rumours, Kieren, from his lot, redeemed or whatever, is that right?”  he pauses just long enough for Simon to nod, “Frankie says they said that the second rising has started, that that profit fella told them, and Amy’s going to rise again! At first I didn’t believe them,” Kieren sensed a ‘but’, “but then mam gets a call from the doctors about you Kieren. That they want her for an appointment because the same things are happenin’ and I thought this all makes sense.” Bloody hell that was quick, so much for doctor-patient confidentiality. Though it’s more Shirley’s fault with that one.

It’s Simon who speaks up first, gently like he’s breaking bad news, “I haven’t heard anything about this, Phillip. There was supposed… something was supposed to happen before the second rising, something bad… It didn’t.”

Kieren thinks if Amy were to rise she would have. Hell, he wishes she would, but she died in front of him. He doesn’t get luck like that. Poor Amy doesn’t get luck like that. He’s convinced this whole thing is a onetime deal, but Philip deserves it. Kieren’s reminded so much of Lisa’s parents and their hope that she would rise. It doesn’t seem so silly now he looks back on it, The Rising happened once. He also remembers what Jem said: that they deserve their hope. He shoots Simon a glare. “It happened once didn’t it!” Philip’s looking at him now, brighter than he’s seen him in months and he can’t take that away. “I don’t know Philip, I can’t tell you the future but stuff is happening to me. You’re right about that.”

He hasn’t said anything new but it’s all Philip needs. “Thanks Kieren. One more thing. Where did you go, y’know when you two were rabid. Just so I know where to look if I come back to an empty grave.”

“I’m not exactly sure she’ll follow the same route, Lip”

“Just in case, c’mon mate.”

Kieren sighs, he doesn’t want to give him too much false hope. “I remember the Save ‘n’ shop.” He figures that’s a pretty safe place for Philip to search, better than walking through the woods alone, at least.

Philip thanks him and Kieren says goodbye, leaving and motioning to Simon to follow. They weave through the new graveyard in silence. Once they’re far enough away Simon gives him a questioning look, “Do you really think there’ll be a second rising?”

He’s never believed in it. “Honestly? No, but who am I to tell Philip there won’t. I didn’t know there would be a first one.”

“You were dead.”

“Okay, granted. Hey,” he loops his arm through Simon’s as they pass through the gates onto the path, “do I want to know what was supposed to happen..?”

“No,” Simon says with so much force that he shocks Kieren, then, much more gently, “just know it was worth leaving the ULA for.”

He didn’t know Simon had officially left, but he’d sort of figured when Simon stopped quoting the bible at him. It must have something to do with the most vocal members no longer being welcome at the bungalow so it can’t all be bad, Zoe just stirred everything up. “I trust you,” is all he says on the matter. Simon kisses the space between his eye and hairline.

 

*

 

The phone rings just as they get through the door. Normally Kieren opts to ignore the phone until it’s handed to him but he has to walk right past it to get upstairs, so he answers. “Hello.”

“You didn’t answer the first time, you little sod!” Jem scolds.

“I just got in!” he defends.

“Jem?” Simon asks and Kieren nods, he hasn’t even said her name out loud. It’s been two sentences, amazing.

“Fine. We just had lunch in Chinatown,” she giggles to herself, “what have you been using  _your_  mouth for, Kier?”

“Jem!” their mother scolds in the background.

“You’re disgusting,” Kieren tells her, glaring at Simon. He’s stood behind Kieren, chin over his shoulder so he can hear, looking amused.

“Yeah, well I said you’re way too much of a nerd, you’re probably only cuddling and gazing into each other’s eyes.” Great, they’ve been talking about him.

“But they’re so dreamy,” Simon deadpans, just for Kieren. He swats at him.

“You’re both so annoying! Here talk to Simon while I put this away,” he shoves the phone at him and takes his prescription into the kitchen, pinning it up on the fridge over the surgery number. The pharmacy didn’t have any Neurotryptoline Plus, typically. It seems other PDS sufferers have been switched over recently and they’ve run out. It’s not really a problem, Kieren can always ask his dad to pick it up on Monday, but he was kind of hoping he could play it all down.

Laughter flows in through the kitchen doorway. It’s such a relief how his family have embraced Simon after their first meeting didn’t exactly go smoothly. Admittedly that was more Kieren’s fault than Simon’s. Actually it was fucking Gary’s fault but the point is it didn’t exactly raise his hopes of a big happy family. On their second meeting Jem pointed a gun at them, but it actually trumped the first. His dad had decided there and then that he liked Simon, so he counts it as a win. Since then Simon’s been made to listen to his dad explaining the plot of every war film that Kieren and Jem had refused to watch with him. He would be more worried if it weren't a tell-tale sign that Steve considers him son in law worthy. Jem and Simon have bonded over bullying Kieren and The Smiths and his mum was just happy that somebody was as proud of her son as she is. He sees them talking sometimes but they go quiet when he approaches them. He’s pretty sure she’s using Simon to try and get him to find a job but Simon will never play into it, so it’s just a joke by this stage.

Simon comes into the room as Kieren bins the last outdated flyer. “Your mam and dad want to say hello.”

“Hi mum, does Jem like the school?”

“Well she likes the city, she won’t shut up about all the stuff she’s going to do ‘when she lives in London’,” he can hear the air quotes in her voice. “And they have a nice art department, Kier…”

“Really,” he says, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. He doesn’t want to give her too much, even if he’s been considering applying to universities again, he can’t say if he’d still get in. He wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t allowed to, what with the corrupt system that basically made them slaves. Is he even entitled to student finance?

“Yeah, we took some photos for you Kier, have a think about it, alright,” Sue insists.

“I will.”

“That’s all I wanted, love. Now say hi to your father.”

He waits through the loud background noise until Steve’s voice is at the other end. “Hi dad, goin’ alright.”

“Yeah alright, son. We bought some Blu-rays in their HMV, it’s massive!”

He stifles a laugh, “What’d you get?”

“Oh loads, Jem said you might like Gravity but I got some others too. Black Hawk Down, that one with the robot.” He thinks that could describe any number of films but just hums politely. “Anyway I’ll let you get off, love you son.”

“Love you. And mum.” He hangs up the phone and turns to Simon, “Dad bought more Blu-rays.” Even Simon thinks that’s funny and he doesn’t live here. They’re going to have to have an intervention.

 

*

 

They spend the afternoon watching films, jokes about Steve’s collection aside. Kieren lets Simon choose, sort of. He gives him a choice of his favourites and Simon chooses Fight Club. They cuddle up on the sofa to watch it, Simon sat up with Kieren snuggled into his side, head on his shoulder.

Simon doesn’t talk through films, which Kieren appreciates but is also confused by. He’s fairly silent himself unless he’s already seen a film and then he makes stupid jokes when the plotline presents the opportunity. Simon laughs at them, convincingly enough that Kieren can tell he doesn’t mind, but stays silent. He wonders if he’s getting on Simon’s nerves but he trusts he’d be told to shut up very bluntly if that were the case. He puts it to the back of his mind and tries to figure out if Tyler and The Narrator are ever both in a room with another character. He gets too wrapped up in it to remember his analysis and by the time the credits play he’s forgotten he was trying.

Simon stands up to stretch. “Rematch on the Playstation?” he suggests, solidifying the nerd status Kieren had assigned him earlier.

“Sure. But if we’re getting competitive then you want Crash Nitro Kart.”

“So you’re a serious petrol head then,” Simon teases, walking over to the game shelf

Kieren flops over onto his side, “I feel like you’re mocking me, but have you seen our car?”

“My car was better than that. Three door and the passenger seat didn’t fold down.” Simon puts the disk in and resets the system because it’s been on too long, “I had to get out into the road to let people out when I dropped them off.”

“Minor detail. That car has put up with so much. I always forgot to put it in neutral,” Kieren climbs off the sofa and sits on the floor within reach of the controller cable and sees Simon wince. “I never did pass my test.”

Simon hands him a controller, “I didn’t pass until after uni,” he consoles. “My car wasn’t that shit actually, to be fair I did break the seat myself.”

“How?” Kieren chooses the track.

Simon smirks, “Let’s just say I wanted more room in the back.”

“ _Oh._ ” Kieren looks down at the controller to hide his face. “Pick your settings.”

 

*

 

They’re in Kieren’s bedroom relaxing, well Simon is, laid back on the bed, his sweater abandoned next to him. He took it off after discovering he’d managed to get gum stuck to it, presumably from the doctors. Kieren’s next to him in his desk chair, swivelling. “Stop,” Simon puts an arm across, catching the arm of the chair and stopping Kieren mid spin, “you’re making me dizzy.”

“Sorry!” He knows he’s terrible at sitting still. He stands up enough to straighten the seat, and hears something fall, looks around and sees a Biro lying on the floor. He hadn’t sat still for long enough to even notice he was sitting on it. He bends down to pick it up and gets an idea, bringing it up towards Simon’s bare forearm. "Can I draw on you?" Kieren checks as an afterthought, pen uncapped and paused barely a centimetre above Simon's skin.

"Sure," Simon replies, sounding less than enthusiastic about it.

Kieren actually pulls the pen further away, twists Simon's arm to get the best angle, pulling the skin taught with his tinted, bitten nails. His mouth a thin line of concentration already. He motions over the surface, planning his design in his head but not committing to ink just yet. "Okay Si, close your eyes."

Simon does so immediately, not protesting like Kieren thought he would. "Just don't draw any dicks, okay."

He laughs. "Hadn't even crossed my mind."

Kieren's doodled on himself enough to know Simon can't feel the nib catching but it still gives him the heebie-jeebies. It's one of those personal things that sets his teeth just a bit on edge. He reminds himself it's in his head and thickens the outline. He lets go of Simon's skin now he's got his lines right and moves onto the detail, moving over the curved surface so he's always looking at it straight on. He shades by repeating the shape over a wider area, admiring that bronze shimmer that Biro ink gets when it's layered up. It's just much nicer not to have to use roller balls that bleed into all the cracks like he does on Jem. He loves that new habit of theirs. Likes how his mum is torn between telling Jem she can’t walk round with ink all over her and pleased that they’re getting along.

"This is actually kind of relaxing," Simon murmurs like he doesn't know if he's allowed to talk.

"Good... You can talk to me." Kieren carries on scribbling, using the lightest pressure now.

Simon doesn't fill the air entirely with words. He tells Kieren about a book he's been reading, swinging his folded up knees slightly when he gets excited. It sounds horrible if you ask him, but Kieren never really got the appeal of horror books, especially now they’ve lived through one. Simon seems like he enjoys it though, speculating on the deeper motives of whatever monster thing is behind all the murders.

"I like how those things are always set in America," Kieren observes, "yet The Rising started in middle of sodding nowhere England. Kind of feels like we won."

Kieren can see a little slice of white as Simon rolls his closed eyes, "We won at apocalypse. Jesus Christ, Kieren, I think that’s a new slogan for the Lancashire tourist board, don’t you."

He joins in with the laughter, "It's enough to make the most miserable of us a little patriotic… Okay, this one's done, you can look now." He lets Simon go and watches his face for the reaction.

Simon stands up and walks up to the mirror so he can examine it properly. It's a cross. Large enough to fill the front of his bicep and shaded in with neat square outlines.  The bit that he has to peer at is something wrapped around it, flowing. It's a chain, the links visible light against the cross. When Simon figures it out he runs a finger over it. The chains are tighter at the bottom like they're working their way free. He sees the exact moment Simon gets it, knows it’s exactly how he feels. Not a sign of devotion but of freedom.

"God, Kieren…" he starts because Kieren's looking expectant, still on his chair next to the bed, "I wasn't expecting a statement."

Kieren shrugs, "Why would you get a tattoo that means nothing?" Just because it isn’t permanent doesn’t mean it can’t be just as expressive.

Simon gets it then, about ten hours to late: Kieren's surprising lack of enthusiasm for his past ideas. He sits back down carefully, "What does starry night mean to you?" he asks gently.

Kieren looks over at Simon, eyes squinting in surprise he made that connection. "It was our favourite painting, mine and Rick's, we made a huge version - I say that, interpretation is more like it - in the snow.” He smiles at his own storytelling. “Raided the art rooms at break because the teacher liked me and let us hide in there… We took photos and I got good marks on it. But the cleaners got annoyed at all the watery paint covering the paving slabs so I had to wait a while before I could print the photos off. The teacher denied having anything to do with it, she genuinely had no clue it was kinda her fault, never grassed on me though."

"I think that's all the more reason to get it."

"Yeah, but when any memory stings less." Kieren shrugs so Simon lets it drop.

Simon lays back down, on his side this time, arm carefully dangling, "Draw something else," he instructs. Simon is allowed to watch this time, rolls his head to the side and pays more attention to Kieren's concentration face than the drawing anyway. He watches the way Kieren bites his lips, only enough that a tiny sliver of tooth shows, and thinks about how much he wants to kiss him. It's pretty obvious what Kieren's doing, the shapes are distinctive enough for Simon to figure it out before any real detail emerges. As soon as Simon spots it he asks why.

Kieren seems to think it's obvious. "Because of your sweaters!" he tries to keep on drawing but Simon pulls his arm away, dodging when Kieren reaches for him. Kieren climbs next to him, mischief in his eyes and pins Simon to his bed with his full weight.

Simon kisses him when he's finished sulking, almost distracting Kieren before he can finish the grandfather clock. Almost. He can’t be put off art that easily though, “I’m still drawing,” he protests, pulling away smiling.

“Sorry,” he lies. Kieren goes back to drawing and Simon goes back to watching him and thinking about how adorable he looks when he’s concentrating. He realises he’s fallen silent again but can only focus on the one thing he’s been avoiding asking. "I have a question," Simon starts, "It's a bit awkward, just something I've been thinking about since yesterday."

Kieren doesn’t move much, keeps his head still tilted low, but peers up through his lashes in encouragement, "Yeah."

He takes a deep breath. "Do you want to make love Kieren? Not now, I mean," Simon adds quickly, noting their position on the duvet, "but does it interest you?"

He settles back into the office chair for this conversation. He can see where Simon's picked up on that from, he and Rick were together for so long and he explicitly stated they never got there. He’s not offended at all; actually he’s kind of proud of Simon for even considering that it’s optional. He takes a while to answer and Simon looks nervous. "You're only the second person I've even entertained the possibility with." It's a bit abstract as a compliment but Kieren means it as one.

"So you've never thought about sex?" Simon misinterprets, just like everyone.

" _Besides_  you and Rick, no."

"You've never looked at like, I don't know, Chris Evans – the American one, obviously - and thought 'I'd like a bit of that'?" Kieren shakes his head but Simon still seems stuck on examples, "Johnny Depp? Or that guy from that famous American vampire programme, the pretty one?"

Kieren looks up, "...You watch Vampire Diaries?"

"No it's just advertised a lot!” Simon defends lamely. It really isn’t, when Jem went through her phase she had to watch it all online. “Wait so you knew who I meant?"

He sighs a bit, he thought this was more promising, "I know when people are attractive! Like he's cute, I'd kiss him... I just don't want to have sex with them." He's mixing his subjects but Simon is too busy processing to pick on individual words.

"How does that work? You just want to - like - go like on dates?"

"Basically," Kieren sighs, it's story time. He leans back, capping the pen so he can turn it over in his hands for something to fiddle with. "I almost had a girlfriend once.” Simon doesn’t seem surprised, if he is he hides it well.

“This girl in my art class used to hang around the art rooms at lunch sometimes. Her friends would stare at me and whisper and I thought it was mean." He shrugs like that in itself isn't a sad admission. Like being afraid any attention is negative isn't an indication of tragically low self-esteem. He's glossing over the parts when he goes home and cries because he thinks the girls are playing a trick on him. Jem had to get involved, wisely telling him secrets about the mysteries of girl communication. "We'd talk, once she had sent her friends away, about music and art. We went to the cinema and I kissed her. I really liked her but I didn't know I could possibly fancy her - if I didn't think about her breasts." He can't help pulling a sneer with the word. He was sick of hearing about breasts from the boys in his year before any of them had even touched a girl. He had never had the desire to see any intimate part of any gender so he just didn’t get the obsession. "Isn't that bad? I thought I couldn't possibly like her because I wasn't sexualising her. At fifteen."

Simon doesn’t really react in any way, just keeps staring at Kieren with surprisingly sympathetic white eyes. "What about Rick though? You told me you two did… stuff," Simon seems to be wording it vaguely, like a get out clause. He’s pretty sure that’s Simon’s way of letting him know he doesn’t have to talk explicitly.

"When we left school he came out to me. I just - I'd always done this stuff as best friends so there was never this scary transition. We just.. we would get drunk and he kissed me and I thought more would be okay. I thought the idea of him wasn't so bad.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It just gradually got more serious and I realised, yeah I would like to have sex with him in one way or another. I think we'd have made it there eventually, but, yeah, we'd like grind or jerk each other off."

He looks up at Simon who seems to be processing that, he swallows then speaks, "I can understand that. I mean sex is way better with people who you're emotionally involved with. The best if you're in love," it's a statement not a line but it still embarrasses Kieren, not that Simon notices, "but I see guys like around that I know I want to see naked." He looks at Kieren, "I guess what you feel is like a purer thing, you can't be won on looks."

"Yeah," he agrees hesitantly. Simon almost seems to be getting it, "except it’s not really a conscious thing, like I don’t decide not to be sexually attracted to people… If it helps I still thought you were hot when we first met."

"Oh and I knew you were beautiful, but I didn't want to put the moves on poor widow boy..." Kieren elbows him because he's not sure how else to react to a complement and insult in such quick succession. It falls dangerously close to deteriorating into a fight but Simon continues, "Amy thought you were gay."

"She was going on the evidence there," Kieren laughs, remembering the time she showed him her tumours, "I did freak out at her in her underwear. She just undid her dress, no explanation. I barely knew her"

"Such a gentleman, your mother must be so proud."

"Piss off!"

Simon laughs, shaking his head at the same time. "Seriously though you're lucky to have such supportive parents. About everything."

He knows it. He appreciates never having to come out to his mum. One day she'd just noticed that the sheets she would set out on the floor went untouched, and after that she told him that whatever he and Rick wanted to try was okay. Coming out to his dad was more difficult but he had surprised Kieren by reeling off the standard ‘I love you no matter what, gay, straight, whatever’ speech. Kieren supposes he fits in the ‘whatever’ category, but it was close enough. Rick had never intended coming out in any way but Rick's mum caught them at it once. They had been snogging on Rick's bed, too wrapped up to realise that anybody else had got home. Rick had begged her not to tell Bill and Kieren had thanked the god he never believed in for his quietly caring dad. He thinks, bitterly, that Rick must have known he had to keep them a secret. Must have already heard enough about how he was wrong from his dad without it even being targeted at him. He helped Rick pin up suggestive posters of women in their underwear after that. It was blatant overcompensation but Bill saw what he wanted to so it worked. "How was your coming out?" he asks because he wants to know. Things like that shape a person.

He watches Simon tense a little, "Fine I guess. I don't really remember so it can't have been that bad with me mum… But me dad would mumble around me for about a year. Whatever, there's been way worse." He pushes Kieren's chair with a foot so it swivels. "I believe we were in the middle of something."

It only takes Kieren a split second to guess which thing Simon's talking about. He grins and climbs up onto his bed so he can give Simon a proper kiss. They kiss slowly like they’ve got all the time in the world because they have. It’s not a precursor to anything or trying to convey anything, it’s just enjoyable. Slow and sweet, no biting or pulling, just slow lazy lips and tongues. Stroking hands in hair and on faces, gentle touches that are more about feeling the other person than searching for electricity.

Simon pulls away but leaves hand in Kieren’s hair stroking through the lengths as they lie there, breathing in each other’s air. Trapped in this bubble they’ve created. Kieren’s pretty sure he’s going to fall asleep he’s so relaxed. He leans away so he doesn’t yawn in Simon’s face then snuggles back down, pressing his face into Simon’s arm, and pulling the other one back to his head, back to his hair . Simon takes the hint, “Okay kitty.”

“’M not a cat,” Kieren struggles through another yawn. He needs more sleep than his nightmares allow him, he can’t just nap all the time.

“No?” Simon runs a hand down Kieren’s back before sliding it back into his hair, “Then no cat naps.” Now there’s a threat. Kieren moans in protest and pushes his face against Simon’s chest, cuddling him close. It’s won him arguments before and it works now. “Okay sleepyhead,” Simon concedes, kissing the tip of Kieren’s nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and thank you to the lovely people who commented on the last chapter. I thought it would be a stand alone but I love my boys too much. I hope you guys keep kudos coming, and if you have any thoughts or even just want to scream at me then please leave a comment. God knows getting judos notifications is the only reason I finally decided I was happy with this.
> 
> (I know a lot of people in the fandom reckon Kieren wasn't 'just' gay. I did some research on sexualities and I just love biromantic, demisexual Kieren because I feel like, even in rural villages being gay isn't such a big deal anymore. But underepresented sexualities have a bit more of that other factor. Poor kid never really fit in and couldn't take it when the person who understood him most died. I didn't mean to get sad here but my point is It just fits so well with the character. Oops, feels.)


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